What Was Akatosh Drinking and Can I Have Some?
by Morninglight
Summary: Lia, Second Blade, is assigned to track down and protect someone with the dragon's blood in Whiterun. Good news: he's a sexy Jarl. Bad news: dragons come calling.


Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. One shot to get the Lia/Balgruuf muse out of my head. Somewhat closer to the original Lia canon but without the Titus Mede crap. Trigger warning for death and violence. Modern AU – blame bluRaaven's Wulfryk/Argis AU 'Nightshade and Colovian Wine' for inspiring me.

…

Whiterun was a lovely little town by Colovian standards, a curious mixture of Nord traditional architecture in wood, stone and plaster and surprising modern innovations like wind turbines and solar panels. The narrow streets of ancient cobblestone wound up to a fortress straight of Nord myth: Dragonsreach, where a genuine dragon's skull was reputed to be displayed above the throne of the Jarl. If she had the time, she'd need to see if she could gain access to check it out.

Lia tended to go unremarked in Cyrodiil even with the overlarge eyes with minimal sclera and delicate under-fangs from Orcish ancestry; unions unthinkable in other nations were everyday occurrences in the heart of a vestigial Empire. But apparently even reputedly cosmopolitan Whiterun tended to take a second glance at a tall, black-haired woman with olive-bronze skin wearing an Arcane University hoodie and jeans tucked into heavy leather boots. It wasn't hostile, per se, but after years of being another face in the crowd, Lia was feeling a tad uncomfortable.

_Just get in, protect the target, and get out._ As much as she'd like to do a bit of sightseeing in her mother's ancestral lands, the Second Blade – the tactician and Daedra's advocate of the Blades – had more pressing duties. The Thalmor, still licking their wounds from the Great War thirty years ago, had cottoned onto the fact there were more lineages with dragon's blood in them than just the Septims. Tiber Septim hadn't been the only Dragonborn, after all, only the greatest of them all.

_Though Ysmir_ _would argue the point,_ she thought ruefully. Her amulet, tucked beneath her shirt, warmed as she neared the location of a potential Dragonborn. Advances in science and rediscovery of ancient Akaviri magics had allowed these precious amulets to be made. If this one shattered, it would take another five years to make its replacement and her uncle, the Grand Master, would keep her home locked up in Wind Scour Temple to make sure she wasn't put in danger again.

She was near the still-standing statue of Talos, a weathered but finely carved piece of work that was remarkably accurate. Someone who had seen Talos carved it, though the single portrait of Tiber Septim rescued from Cloud Ruler Temple during the Great War depicted him as being stockier and the beard being more like overgrown stubble than the bushy one here. Regardless, Lia spared a moment to offer a nod to the idol and touch the altar at its foot.

It appeared she'd get the chance to see the dragon's skull after all as the amulet drew her in the direction of the Cloud District. She passed by a solid Imperial who said, "I'm the Commander of the guard here in Whiterun" and managed to conceal the rolling of her eyes. The Colovians always did take pleasure in stating their ranks.

She was at the doorway when an eerie howl echoed over the Jerall Mountains to the south. Lia's neck-hairs rose in atavistic fear as she wondered what beast could make such a loud noise. Skyrim was full of monsters eradicated almost everywhere else, after all.

_Maybe it's a Nord's mating cry,_ she thought ruefully, trying to shake off her sense of dread. _Gods know they're noisy enough._

But as she opened the heavy double-doors, clever counterweights allowing a single woman to part them easily, she heard the noise again, this time closer, and felt the icy fingers of a fateful fear run down her spine.

Inside, the Great Hall of Dragonsreach was everything that a Jarl's home was supposed to be down to the long fire-pit that divided two tables from each other before an ancient throne. Electric lights fitted within clever amber shades flickered slightly to maintain the authenticity of a longhouse lit by flames and it cast a warm tone on an interior made mostly of age-polished wood. Two guards, clad in traditional Nord linen wraps over their black fatigues, watched her as she climbed the steps to where a rangy, long-faced man lounged on the throne. As she came closer, the amulet warmed until it was just short of the noon day sun in a Hammerfell summer.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was a handsome enough man for someone in early middle age, a few silver strands in his platinum-blond hair and long goatee giving the lie to an athletic musculature. He wore traditional Jarl robes despite the Imperial in a suit next to him – an unfortunately balding and hook-nosed individual – and the red-haired Dunmer in well-made Kevlar-and-ceramic body armour of scarlet and ochre-yellow. She pulled out a steel sword that glittered with a blue-keen edge as Lia ascended to the dais, going to intercept her. "The Jarl is not holding audience today," she said icily. "State your business."

Lia's hand instinctively curled in the first gesture for summoning the Ansei Shehai before she deliberately relaxed her fingers. "My name is Lia and someone on this dais is of dragon-blooded heritage," she said calmly. "I am a Blade and it's my duty to make certain they survive the Thalmor assassination attempt."

"How do I know _you're_ not the Thalmor assassination attempt?" the Dunmer, who had to be the huscarl – a traditional bodyguard to the Jarls of Skyrim, asked grimly.

To the woman's credit, she didn't flinch when Lia called her Soul Sword, a slightly ethereal ninjato blade – an Akaviri shortsword with a thicker, heavier and straighter blade than the katana – that blazed the same turquoise as her eyes. "I'd be a damned fool to walk in here openly if I was."

"Stand down, Irileth," Balgruuf commanded. His voice was oddly accented but rich, pleasantly masculine and well-enunciated. Lia would have hit on him alone for that voice if she'd met him in a bar. "The last I heard, the Thalmor did not practice the Shehai Shen She Ru."

"And anyone of Ra Gada ancestry who mastered the Way of the Soul Sword and then pissed on the traditions like that would have a slow death," Lia agreed grimly, impressed that he knew the difference between a bound sword and the manifestation of a warrior's spirit.

"Well, seeing as only one of us is descended from Olaf One-Eye – and my death would destabilise Skyrim – I must be the target," Balgruuf continued matter-of-factly as Irileth sheathed her sword and Lia dispelled the Soul Sword. "I must be very important indeed if the Grand Master sends his niece and Second Blade to protect me."

Something went _thud_ outside, the stone-and-wood fortress shaking under the impact. This time, the eerie howl she'd heard earlier and tried to dismiss roared over their heads, sounding almost like… speech.

_"JUNSEAHROL!"_

No, it was speech, and it came from upstairs.

"The Great Porch!" Balgruuf bellowed.

"You must remain here, my Jarl!" Irileth insisted.

"I cannot, Irileth!" Balgruuf's long, worn face was set determinedly as he rose from his seat. "I… think I know what it is. And I would rather face a dragon on my feet than cower in Dragonsreach as it burned Whiterun around me."

"A dragon, my Jarl? That sounds preposterous!" The Imperial adviser sounded more sceptical than fearful.

Eyes swung in Lia's direction and she cursed herself for not listening more to old Esbern the loremaster. "If I recall my few lessons on dragons correctly, they can Shout," she finally said. "And that sounded like a Shout."

"It is. Junseahrol is my draconic name." Balgruuf smiled sardonically at Lia's blank expression. "Every Jarl sends at least one child to study at High Hrothgar. Some of them become Greybeards, but all are enlightened to their true nature with a name in Dovahzul. Mine means 'King of the Hill'. Paarthunax saw further than I did when he named me."

Lia gathered her wits. "Our oracle said nothing about dragons. Maybe she saw further than I did when she said there was a grave danger to the dragon's blood in Whiterun and I assumed Thalmor."

She didn't tell him that he was a latent Dragonborn nor advise him to stay away from the dragon. If they had returned, so had Alduin World-Eater, and that meant Balgruuf might be the only man who could save the world. "Armour up, Jarl. I know it takes time and will cost lives. But if you die, more lives will be lost in the end."

_"JUNSEAHROL! Bo uv Zu'u fen naak hin hiim!"_

"'Come or I will eat your city'," Balgruuf translated. "That tears it. Irileth, Avenicci, take Hrongar and the children below to the cellar. We must trust in Caius to command the city's defence."

Lia refrained from observing she wouldn't trust Commander Caius with a pot plant, let alone the defence of Whiterun, as she summoned the Soul Sword again. 'It's my job to protect you. Dragon or Thalmor – or given our luck, an alliance between the two – I will watch your back."

"My Jarl-" Irileth began, only to be silenced with a grim look from Balgruuf.

"Irileth, Hrongar will need a wise, canny protector. In the end, it is a Jarl's duty to die for his people." The rangy man cracked a wry smile. "Besides, I might even get to Sovngarde. I have no intentions of selling my life cheaply."

The Dunmer scowled, red eyes livid, but nodded reluctantly. "Fight and die well," she answered before chivvying the stunned Avenicci out of the Great Hall.

Balgruuf glanced to Lia. "I know you have your orders, Blade, but this is not your fight-"

"I am descended from the commander of the human Akaviri forces," Lia interrupted quietly, falling into the calm mental clarity of the Eye of the Storm Stance. "My Ra Gada ancestor Cyrus slew a dragon too. I was born for this as much as you, Jarl."

"If I must die, at least I will have the company of a beautiful woman," Balgruuf answered softly, ice-blue eyes gleaming for a moment, before he turned to run upstairs, Lia following him.

Only a Nord Jarl would have his ceramic-and-Kevlar armour painted to look like a set of steel plate etched with their intricate looping patterns. As he stripped down, pulled on a t-shirt and soft thermal leggings, and armoured himself up, Balgruuf regarded Lia grimly. "Bless that dragon for sitting on the Great Porch," he said. "If I can draw him under the roof, you can activate the old dragon trap."

Lia was momentarily distracted by the Jarl's rangy frame being in _damned_ fine shape for a man who essentially sat on his ass for most of the day. "A helmet might help," she finally said, noting his head was bare but for his circlet of office.

"He will see the face of the King of the Hill," Balgruuf answered proudly. "I am… content to die. So long as Whiterun lives."

"You know I'm inwardly facepalming right now," Lia noted sardonically as he grabbed a fine axe that glinted blue-keen on its edge. Not even the finest smiths of the Blades could manage that sharp an edge.

"But you are not running, Lia. And please, call me Balgruuf. We'll probably die together." Balgruuf was far too cheerful at the prospect for Lia's comfort.

"If push comes to shove, I'm expendable. You're a potential Dragonborn and I'm not." It slipped out of her mouth as the Jarl strode for the door.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Balgruuf smiled grimly. "Either way, we'll teach this wyrm to rue the day he came to Whiterun."

When they emerged onto the Great Porch, it was carnage as the dragon flung the last of the guards from the heights with a scream that ended in a splat. It was white, the colour of dirty snow, and its eyes gleamed with a wicked intelligence. "Junseahrol, you finally come," mocked the beast. "My lord will eat your soul in Sovngarde."

"Hi los raxnu diiv," Balgruuf replied pleasantly, his tone implying it was an insult. Lia glanced quickly up to see where the trap winch was and then bolted up the stairs.

The dragon lunged forward as Balgruuf, displaying remarkable agility, rolled backwards and just missed a mouthful of flame. "Zu'u fen velaaz nau hin naas," he promised direly.

"And your head will join that of Nu-Miin-Nax," Balgruuf retorted, speaking now in Common.

The dragon lunged again as Balgruuf fell flat this time, hand reaching for a nearby guard's sword. As he flamed again, the Jarl rammed the sword's point up through the soft jaw and through the tongue, making the beast cry out in agony. Then he scrambled back quickly as the monster reared his ugly head.

"Savour that in Oblivion, dovah," Balgruuf snarled, his eyes blazing ice-blue.

By response, the dragon lashed out with a wing, slamming Balgruuf back against the door. As he stalked forward to finish the winded Jarl off, he entered the pattern Lia just realised delineated the range of the trap and she cranked the winch to slam the trap shut.

Caught in elaborately carved Skyrim oak hard as iron, the dragon roared unintelligibly, blood spewing from his mouth and jaw wound. Lia jumped from the balcony to land on the monster's back, scales cutting through her denim jeans, and crawled along its spine to reach the wildly thrashing head. Two sharp jabs of her Soul Sword blinded the monster forever more. "Would you like the honour?" she called out to Balgruuf as he struggled to his feet.

"Would you kiss a dragonslayer?" he retorted, drawing his axe. She really needed to find out what gave it that subtle blue sheen.

"Only if he's good at it!" she retorted, a semihysterical laugh bubbling forth. They were flirting as they killed a dragon!

"Oh, I've never gotten any complaints," Balgruuf drawled as he hefted his axe and came past the dragon's desperately snapping teeth to the back of the trap, which still left some serpentine neck exposed.

Lia jumped off the beast's back, landing easily in a three-point crouch, as the Jarl began to hack at the dragon's neck. That axe cleaved dragon-scale almost as easy as butter, though the neck was so thick it took a while to completely sever the head.

When it was done, Balgruuf fell to his knees, panting with exhaustion as the corpse began to consume itself in golden flame. Much to Lia's horror, white-gold contrails of light snaked out towards her instead of Balgruuf, alien words and memories filling her mind. One in particular forced its way past her lips, a reminder of an etching she'd taken of the Bleakfall Barrow when she'd executed some bandits for a bit of coin.

_"FUS!"_ she Shouted, driving Balgruuf to his knees with a grunt.

When the Jarl rose to his feet again, he had regained his composure remarkably well. "So, you're the Dragonborn," he observed dryly as Lia buried her face in her hands. What the _fuck_ was Akatosh thinking?

"Whatever Akatosh was drinking, I want some," she retorted shakily.

Balgruuf moved over to her side, wrapping an armoured arm around her. "I can offer some Honningbrew Reserve," he promised.

Lia would have taken him up on that offer but then the sky rumbled with _"DOVAHKIIN!"_ and she felt the urge to travel to the big-ass mountain that loomed over the Great Porch.

"And so the Greybeards have called you," Balgruuf murmured gently.

The Blade clenched her fists and took a deep breath, releasing it – and her astonishment – with an explosive sigh. "They can wait a few days," she growled. "We need to take care of Whiterun first."

"Very true." Balgruuf regarded her for a moment, eyes warm, before he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "A kiss for the Dragonborn," he rumbled, breath stirring her hair.

She retaliated by giving him a kiss that only one trained in the arts of the Akaviri courtesans could manage, slamming the Jarl of Whiterun against the doors until she could feel his response.

"A kiss for the dragonslayer," she rasped when they broke apart for air.

Balgruuf's pupils were dilated, his irises a thin ring of ice-blue. "Hi drun zey wah smoliin, Dovahkiin," he murmured. "'You bring me to passion… Dragonborn'."

Lia decided that Dovahzul was quite possibly the sexiest language in the world when spoken by Balgruuf. Unfortunately, there were pressing issues in ascending order of importance like restoring Whiterun to order, the end of the world, potential Thalmor interference, her uncle's reaction to her being Dragonborn and technically having to obey her…

But she kissed him one more time, finding herself pressed against the door this time, and gasping regretfully when he was done. It seemed the Jarl had had a little education of his own.

Maybe being the Dragonborn wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
